Thoughts During a Snow Squall
The last of March blows wildly in
from the North, freezing us with a cold
and cleansing breath. Not ready to concede
the season to skipping lambs, it faces head
on the full-grown Aries.
Tired of painful cold, I yet covet the pure
company of this sudden snow. Not a little
in love with death, the prospect of blooming
life can overwhelm. An unnamed woman
slipped under the river’s ice last week
after setting down her cellphone.
Life can become too much of a good thing.
She has entered the river––as will we all––
a prophetic action beyond recall.